Star Light, Star Bright
by Lemon Zinger
Summary: Watson is imprisoned by a blackmailer that Holmes is trying to bring to justice. Through torture and illness, he is ready to give up. Dedicated to Elerrina Star, who also prompted this. BBA
1. Chapter 1

**Thanks to Azolean for Beta-ing.**

**_Chapter One_**

We were running with all possible speed, but I lagged behind and knew my energy was wearing out. He turned, noticing I was not keeping up, and stopped.

"Just go, Holmes. No sense in both of us falling into his hands!" I panted.

The darkness was growing thicker as the moon started to hide behind clouds.

"No!" he shouted. "I won't leave you behind."

The woods we were heading for were not far, but there was no way I could manage

"Holmes, you have the evidence to put him behind bars for good. You have to go!"

"So he can use your life to persuade me not to turn him in?"

"Holmes, go! Please!" The forerunners were getting closer. "Holmes, please!" I pleaded.

He looked at me with a pained expression. I shoved him my revolver and pushed him away.

"I'll be back soon, I promise!" Holmes said.

"Holmes, go!" I shouted as the first of our hunters grabbed me roughly by my arm and shoulder.

He did so with all speed, quickly evading anyone that tried to follow. He was soon out of sight, and I heard the men give up their pursuit.

"We have this one. Boss'll be happy to use `im to strong-arm the other fellow," one of them said.

"Right, let's head back!" the leader of the ragtag group said.

Our enemy had been clever, indeed, to include all of his staff in on his sinister plotting. I was forced to march back to the large country house and they attempted to question me. Of course, I would say nothing; so they resorted to aggressive persuasion. My head was forced under the water of a trough near the stables, and they held me there for several seconds.

I forced down my panic, knowing they couldn't kill me because they needed to use me as a bargaining chip. Indeed, I was pulled back out and I was allowed a moment to catch my breath before they once again demanded that I answer their questions. I quietly filled my lungs with air, knowing what was to come; but the cold water was still a shock on the chilly night. This time, though, I had taken a deep breath. I lost my balance, and some of the air I had taken in escaped my lips. I stumbled to my knees, and was desperate for a breath.

When I was brought back up, they seemed to be giving up. I stood there, gasping for air, while they decided what should be done with me.

"Leave `im in the stables," suggested the same man from earlier.

Their leader again nodded at the suggestion, and I was roughly dragged into the stables; having little energy to do anything else then let the two men drag me to an empty stall and roughly toss me in before stepping back and bolting the door. I was unable to break my fall and I whacked my head against the wall of the stable. Part of me wished it had been enough to knock me out cold, since I was so tired; but also too cold and wet to sleep properly. Fortunately, there was some hay in the stall that I could try to use to keep warm.

I examined my prison a little as I unsteadily stood up, using the wall for support, to walk over to the hay pile. There was a window opposite the door, and I could see the stars shining. I knew dawn was approaching soon. It had been one in the morning when Holmes and I had first started our journey and it was now several hours since that.

_I am a little too old to believe in childhood stories,_ I thought, as I quietly breathed a wish to the stars. The rhyme had sprung up in America about a decade ago, and I had heard it during a visit there.

_Star light, star bright._

I reached the hay pile that was along the wall next to the door, and began to split it into two piles; one to keep underneath and one to put over me.

_First star I see tonight_

Once that was done, I fixed up the bottom pile so it would be as comfortable as possible.

_I wish I may, I wish I might_

I decided that I couldn't keep on my wet jacket, much as I longed for its warmth. My thin shirt underneath would have to be enough. My head was still damp and I used a dry section to dry off.

_Have the wish I wish tonight_

I breathed a final sigh as I bed down beneath the hay, and with it I hoped Holmes would come quickly—and that he wouldn't be forced to let our enemy escape to rescue me.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter Two_**

I wake to a loud bang. My first realization is that it's about midday. And the second is that someone is watching me. Bright green eyes framed by curly blonde bangs watch me intently.

"Sarah! What have I told you about being there?" a voice demanded and the face disappeared.

"But, Father, he's awake now," a voice said.

I heard footsteps walking towards the stall. A grizzled face peers in, and I blink away sleepiness.

"Well, go fetch `is breakfast," the man told his daughter.

I heard littler footsteps race off. The face disappeared, and I hear a horse whinny from elsewhere in the barn. The girl returned, and held out a plate and cup from a hole through the barns that lined the front of the stall. I stood slowly to come and get it from her. Just as I reached her, she dropped the cup.

"Oops, sorry," she said.

I grabbed the plate before anything could happen to that.

"Can you refill the cup?" I asked, bending to retrieve it.

When I stood back up, she was gone; but I noticed her edging back to sit on an overturned bucket in the middle of the aisle a little ways down. Apparently she would not. I sighed, and noticed that there was a large bucket filled with water sitting next to the door. I looked over, and noticed she had a perfect view of the bucket through the bars of the door. Was she hoping I would drink from that? I looked at the water, which was murky and had bits of dirt and other things floating in it.

I decide to do without, and examine the plate. There is a biscuit and a bit of porridge that I devour, even though it is cold. I am feeling very drowsy and once I am finished, I stand to hold the plate and cup out. She gets up with a sigh and retrieves them, since it seems to be her job.

"Thank you," I said, deciding to at least be courteous.

For a minute, she studies me curiously, her hand still reaching for the plate and cup. Then she acts like nothing happened, and just takes the plate and cup and disappears. I look out into the barn, and notice the overturned bucket is still sitting in the middle of the aisle. And there is a lad, not paying any attention, pulling a wheelbarrow backwards.

"Watch out!" I call, but it's too late.

The fellow has tripped, and is now not only hitting the ground with a thud; but he didn't let go of the wheelbarrow, and now the contents are spilling out over him. Two other men rush over as the lad cries out in pain. The girl has also returned now, and is watching on as the men work to dig the poor fellow out from the compost that has fallen on him from the waist down. Once that is done, they attempt to help him rise; but the youth cries out in agony and grips his right shoulder. My training makes me stiffen to see him in pain, and I know I can't just sit there.

"Let me help. I'm a doctor," I call.

"So you can try to escape? I don't think so!" the girl's father shouts at me, and then he looks back at the fallen lad. "Come on, Nathan. It's just bruised."

"No, it's likely broken," I retort, causing the youth to look back at me with fear stamped on his features.

The girl's father, who seemed to be in charge at that particular moment, seemed to be trying to decide what to do. The lad groaned in pain and I reverted to begging.

"Please, let me help him," I said.

"Do you promise not to try anything?" the man asked.

"I'm in no condition to," I said. "But I give my word of honor—and I have never broken it in my life—that I will not attempt to escape while healing him."

This seemed to satisfy the man and the other one was sent to release me. I walked over and smiled as I untied the top loop on the young man's tunic.

"Your name is Nathan?" I asked, trying to ignore my surroundings and situation as I moved his sleeve to get a better look at the shoulder.

"Yes," Nathan replied.

I could tell he was holding back tears and pitied him having to act brave.

"Well, Nathan, I've never heard of anyone dying from this sort of injury, so no worries," I said, winking.

He grinned a little at this. I realized the other two had gone back to work nearby; one standing between me and both of the exits. Sarah had remained and was watching me closely. I probed the area gently with my fingers, and watched as he bit his lip to stop his moans. I was gentle and did as little as I could possibly do to determine the extent of the injury. To my relief, it was not broken; but it was a very bad bruise and would take a week at least to heal properly. I didn't want to say as much to the man in charge, but didn't want to leave it to Nathan either.

"Sir?" I called in his direction.

He walked over and I explained the situation. He seemed to think for a moment before nodding.

"He can have his week off. Anything he should do for it?"

I prescribed several pain treatments and other suggestions to help speed up the healing process. The man seemed to soak in every word, and I knew without looking that Nathan was doing the same. When I did look back at Nathan, he was looking at me gratefully.

"How should we get him back to his room?" the man asked.

"A stretcher would be best, or something similar," I replied.

The man nodded. "We keep one handy just in case. Sarah, go fetch it, and get John out here to help."

Sarah nodded and dashed out.

"Thank you, sir," the man said, waving his arm back at the stall I had been in previously.

I hated to just walk back into that prison, but had little other choice. With a thud and a bang the door was put back in place and bolted.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Chapter Three_**

The next meal, Sarah was careful not to drop anything and I wondered what had come over her. I got a chance to find out when the men went out to deal with a horse that had escaped. She was just walking in circles in front of my stall, and I was sitting next to the door so I could watch her through the bars.

"Careful, you'll get dizzy," I called with a smile as I took another sip of the water.

She stopped and looked at me. "Thanks for helping Nathan," she said simply.

"I was glad to help. Is he a friend of yours?" I asked.

"Brother," the girl replied.

"Indeed?" I realized suddenly that they had the same bright green eyes.

"Mhm," Sarah hummed. She stopped spinning and sat down on a bale of hay next to the door.

"So you and Nathan help your father here?" I asked.

She nodded. I pitied them suddenly, since they probably had very little playtime and not much time to learn either. Sarah looked to be only ten, and Nathan not much over sixteen.

"Ever since mama died," Sarah added.

I frowned. "I am sorry."

"Why? You didn't know her," Sarah said.

"No, but you must miss her."

Another nod.

"Sarah! What are you doing?" the man yelled.

Sarah stood quickly and stood with her hands clasped behind her back as her father strode forward and admonished her for disobedience. I pitied her, since I had drawn her into conversation, and tried to say as much.

"Sir, it's not her fault, I asked her about Nathan," I hastily said.

Sarah looked over at me, her eyes betraying her gratefulness as the man's anger was turned now to me.

"It's none of your business how Nathan is," The man growled.

"I examined him this morning," I argued. "I would like to know if anything has gotten worse, because that could mean that there were more serious injuries."

The man seemed to pause, considering this. "Well, he is fine. So, next time, ask me," he said.

I nodded and finished the last of my water. I put the cup on the plate and stood to hand it through the bars. The girl walked over to take it from me and I watched her leave. I looked back at the man who just sighed and went back to work.

I was growing bored and was beginning to think about the series of events that had led up to this. Holmes had been employed to investigate a blackmailer who used most of his ill-gotten gains to fund his passion for horses. The stables were always well kept and some of the finest. His home was impressive too; but he spent very little time in it, since he was often away on business or attending horse auctions.

Holmes and I thought a late night robbery while he was away would be one way to get at the documents that our client was being blackmailed with. We had not counted on his staff being so loyal or observant though, and we were soon on a run for it.

I was just glad Holmes had gotten away. But now what?

By dinner, I was very nauseous and didn't want anything to eat. I wanted a bed with warm covers and a bathroom. I had been told earlier to simply use the sawdust like one of the horses and I avoided that humiliation for as long as possible. Even so, I still felt sick; and when Sarah came over to the bars, I didn't move to get out of my bed in the hay. I lay on my side with my back to her.

"Sir, here's your dinner," she said. "Sir?"

"Sarah! I thought I told you no talking!" her father yelled at her.

"He's asleep or something and not getting up," Sarah replied.

I heard footsteps approaching, and the door was unbolted and slid back for a moment. I assumed the meal was being left for me, but I had no intentions of eating when I knew it would only make me feel worse.

Sleep came soon enough, but I was roused in the middle of the night with violent chills broken by flashes of fever. I was using my jacket as a blanket; but it wasn't enough, and I knew I was growing dangerously ill. I had only just gotten over a bout of pneumonia when I had decided to accompany Holmes. I had been feeling better, but now was congested and ached all over. Even just the workers' minor activities made my head pound.

Evening fell into night, and I heard the footsteps approaching the stall again. By now, I was shivering violently and moaned a little as the noise of the door opening hurt my head.

"What's the matter then?" the man asked.

His voice was low, but sharp, and I didn't try to look up at him.

"Getting ill… need another blanket," I managed to gasp out.

"Sarah, fetch the poor fellow some of those horse blankets, and be quick about it," the man called.

I just lay there, but the man came over and put a hand on my shoulder, looking me over.

"I'll see if I can't move you somewhere more comfortable," the man promised softly.

"T-thank you," I said, shivering.

Sarah was quick about retrieving the blankets, and I was soon covered in three of them; with two underneath for comfort. I was glad to be out of the hay, but moving to my new bed had been a struggle. I was soon in a half-conscious state.

"Sarah, go fetch Reuben," the man said, sitting next to me.

"Must I?" Sarah asked, she sounded afraid.

"Just tell him I need him."

"Yes, Father."

I heard her footsteps retreating, and I felt a hand on my forehead.

"I'm sorry about all this. You helped my boy. I did a poor job thanking you."

"Not your fault," I mumbled.

I heard him give a quick laugh, almost as if he disagreed with what I had said. I knew he was just an underling in a much wider scheme, and pitied him the guilt he bore.

"I only took this job to feed my kids. Didn't intend it to be permanent," he whispered.

"What is your name?" I asked.

"Jeremiah, but I go by Jeremy," he answered.

"Jeremy? Where are you?" I heard a voice call. I recognized it as the man who had seemed to lead the others the night before.

"Here," Jeremy said, standing.

"Well, what is it?" the voice grew closer.

"He's getting sick, he needs medical attention and somewhere warmer to sleep," Jeremy said.

"Why? What does it matter to us?"

"If he dies, you can't use him to coerce that detective into returning those papers," Jeremy reasoned boldly.

"But, if he's dying, it will encourage that meddling detective to act," Reuben said. I could hear the coldness in his voice. "I'll send him another message."

"Reuben, this isn't worth an innocent man's life!" Jeremy said.

I heard the punch, and looked over just as Jeremy stumbled against the far wall. Reuben stood over him, glowering.

"Do as I say, Jeremy, or your kids might end up in a stall," Reuben said.

Jeremy looked from me to Reuben and then back at me. I nodded, trying to tell him it was all right. Jeremy just lowered his head.

"Yes, Reuben."

From my spot I could see out the door and noticed Sarah watching this exchange. I pitied her, but was powerless to help.

They all left and I tried to fall into a deeper sleep, but it was hopeless. I tossed and turned all of the night. And, even though I was slightly warmer, my fever made it unbearable; so I was throwing the covers off, only to need them again when the chills returned. I had also starting coughing, barely able to catch my breath with the fits seized me.

I knew that was growing ill, but I wasn't praying for me. I was praying that somehow my captors might show mercy.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter Four_**

I wasn't aware of the passage of time, but it seemed to be crawling. I was delirious half the time, and acutely aware of every pain and discomfort the rest of it. I wasn't able to eat at all, but Jeremy came into the stall himself to see that I drank some of the water. Reuben only allowed it because he didn't want me dying too quickly. I didn't know if that was torture or mercy.

Somehow, I was able to give Jeremy a hoarse "thank you" before he left, but he didn't reply and wouldn't meet my eyes. I knew it was not out of unkindness. Rather, he was feeling terribly guilty. A few times when I was awake I saw Sarah peeking in at me. I would try to smile kindly to her, but usually she looked away as soon as she noticed I was awake. I assumed she was worried about getting into trouble. Reuben's abuse was surely wearing on her nerves and she didn't want to get anyone in trouble.

I truly felt alone. Every noise was torture; and in a barn, there are a great many noises. A horse was munching loudly on his oats next door. A stable hand was loudly sweeping the aisle. Another horse was rustling the hay as it ate. A fly was investigating how long he could buzz around my ear and avoid my hand swatting at him. Another horse got agitated and started kicking the wall. Men were shouting orders outside and hoof prints echoed as horses came and went.

And, of course, I was coughing. A few times the men would peek in on me. Perhaps curious if I was dying, or maybe concerned. Whatever the case, once I managed to breathe regularly again they moved away, busying themselves with some task.

I wasn't sure I was coming out of this one. I wished I would somehow have one last goodbye with Holmes.

I realized I still had my little notebook in my pocket; I would just need a pen. I had somehow lost mine. The next time Jeremy came to help me drink, I asked him for a pen. My voice was ragged, so I didn't want to have to explain, but he nodded and pressed a finger to his lips nodding. The next time Sarah passed by my stall, she threw a pencil over the door. It landed on me and I smiled, tucking it away for a bit so as not to draw suspicion. After a little while, I began my letter.

_Holmes,_

_If you are reading this I am more than likely dead._

_I just wanted to say goodbye, and in case I don't _

_have the chance I want to tell you some things._

_First, and foremost, do not blame yourself._

_I chose, or rather demanded, to come along_

_and you know I can be terribly stubborn._

_It is not your fault that there are criminals;_

_but it is your duty, because of your tremendous_

_talent, to continue to seek out and punish_

_those who merit it._

_Please though, do not resort to any unnecessary_

_violence on my account. Some of these men,_

_including Jeremy and his family, have been_

_exceedingly nice to me. If you are able, please_

_help them. It is only Reuben who has been at_

_all unkind, though I suspect it is due to the_

_blackmailer's influence._

_I have enjoyed following you and studying you,_

_though I admit I make a poor student to your_

_brilliant deduction. Any unfinished manuscripts_

_regarding your cases you may do with what you like._

_Thank you for all you have done, and for your kind_

_gift of friendship._

_Sincerest regards,_

_Watson_

Watson tucked the pencil in his pocket and then put the paper inside his notebook. While his captors wouldn't think to search the contents very thoroughly, if at all, he was certain Holmes would. He would investigate the matter with the thoroughness he devoted to everything. Of course there would be nothing to uncover, except I died of illness caused by poor conditions.

I was moaning when I came to, and I had no idea why at first. But then the pain registered in my newly awakened senses, and I gasped as the pain flooded me. It was unlike anything I had known and, for a moment, I wondered if I was on the brink of death.

Then I realized I was not in the same position as before, and I managed to open my eyes to look around. It was the same stall, but someone had propped me up, and thrown more blankets over me. I had another coughing fit; and with how bad the pain was in my lungs I wanted to stop breathing altogether. Now I understood the men who would desperately plead with me to just end their life on the battlefield when I had been confident I could do something for them. Sometimes it just hurts so bad to hang on that you just don't want to anymore.

I moaned again, and my eyes began to close as I lay helplessly entangled in chills alternating with flashes of intense heat. I could do nothing to help myself, and the feeling of rage that swept over me gave me some sort of unexplainable energy. I rose, not really knowing how I managed with my legs quivering beneath me like that of a newborn foal; and wobbled my way along the wall, holding on for balance. It was slow progress, and when I finally reached the stall door I realized I had been an utter idiot to even bother. It was locked.

But, just to quench my curiosity, I gave it a rough shove and found it slid open a bit. Enthused, I pushed harder and managed to make a gap wide enough for me to move. The energy it took was great though, and I was forced to lean a moment, panting and coughing against the doorway. But I was determined. I was either getting out of this horrid place or I would die in the attempt.

I slowly made my way to the end of the aisle, where an open door awaited me. I was eager to be through it, but I could hardly take more than one step before I was forced to lean heavily on the wall to avoid falling. Sometimes I would be stopped for several moments by a coughing fit that left the vile taste of blood on my tongue. Other times I'd grow dizzy and grip anything in reach until the world righted itself.

It could have only been about twenty paces, but it took me what seemed like ages to reach the door and I was so overjoyed, I left the security of the wall and tried to make a dash for it. Only to be grabbed from behind. A hand clamped firmly on my shoulders and I cried out. I wasn't surprised—it wasn't as though my getaway was well thought out or quick enough—but I was furious. I was not going back without a fight. I turned, my movements hindered by the injuries I had sustained, but the blow I landed my attacker was enough to release his grip on me.

And it was enough to put me off balance. I collapsed to my knees on the floor and began to fall forward only to be caught. I tried to push the man away from me but it was of no use, I was powerless against his iron grip.

"Watson! Watson, it's alright!"

The voice seemed somewhat familiar. But, before I had pinpointed the speaker, I was spiraling down in a wave of black that I hoped never to rise from. I was captured again, there was no hope now.

I heard footsteps approaching, and the door was unbolted and slid back for a moment. I assumed the meal was being left for me, but I had no intentions of eating when I knew it would only make me feel worse.

Sleep came soon enough, but I was roused in the middle of the night with violent chills broken by flashes of fever. I was using my jacket as a blanket; but it wasn't enough, and I knew I was growing dangerously ill. I had only just gotten over a bout of pneumonia when I had decided to accompany Holmes. I had been feeling better, but now was congested and ached all over. Even just the workers' minor activities made my head pound.

Evening fell into night, and I heard the footsteps approaching the stall again. By now, I was shivering violently and moaned a little as the noise of the door opening hurt my head.

"What's the matter then?" the man asked.

His voice was low, but sharp, and I didn't try to look up at him.

"Getting ill… need another blanket," I managed to gasp out.

"Sarah, fetch the poor fellow some of those horse blankets, and be quick about it," the man called.

I just lay there, but the man came over and put a hand on my shoulder, looking me over.

"I'll see if I can't move you somewhere more comfortable," the man promised softly.

"T-thank you," I said, shivering.

Sarah was quick about retrieving the blankets, and I was soon covered in three of them; with two underneath for comfort. I was glad to be out of the hay, but moving to my new bed had been a struggle. I was soon in a half-conscious state.

"Sarah, go fetch Reuben," the man said, sitting next to me.

"Must I?" Sarah asked, she sounded afraid.

"Just tell him I need him."

"Yes, Father."

I heard her footsteps retreating, and I felt a hand on my forehead.

"I'm sorry about all this. You helped my boy. I did a poor job thanking you."

"Not your fault," I mumbled.

I heard him give a quick laugh, almost as if he disagreed with what I had said. I knew he was just an underling in a much wider scheme, and pitied him the guilt he bore.

"I only took this job to feed my kids. Didn't intend it to be permanent," he whispered.

"What is your name?" I asked.

"Jeremiah, but I go by Jeremy," he answered.

"Jeremy? Where are you?" I heard a voice call. I recognized it as the man who had seemed to lead the others the night before.

"Here," Jeremy said, standing.

"Well, what is it?" the voice grew closer.

"He's getting sick, he needs medical attention and somewhere warmer to sleep," Jeremy said.

"Why? What does it matter to us?"

"If he dies, you can't use him to coerce that detective into returning those papers," Jeremy reasoned boldly.

"But, if he's dying, it will encourage that meddling detective to act," Reuben said. I could hear the coldness in his voice. "I'll send him another message."

"Reuben, this isn't worth an innocent man's life!" Jeremy said.

I heard the punch, and looked over just as Jeremy stumbled against the far wall. Reuben stood over him, glowering.

"Do as I say, Jeremy, or your kids might end up in a stall," Reuben said.

Jeremy looked from me to Reuben and then back at me. I nodded, trying to tell him it was all right. Jeremy just lowered his head.

"Yes, Reuben."

From my spot I could see out the door and noticed Sarah watching this exchange. I pitied her, but was powerless to help.

They all left and I tried to fall into a deeper sleep, but it was hopeless. I tossed and turned all of the night. And, even though I was slightly warmer, my fever made it unbearable; so I was throwing the covers off, only to need them again when the chills returned. I had also starting coughing, barely able to catch my breath with the fits seized me.

I knew that was growing ill, but I wasn't praying for me. I was praying that somehow my captors might show mercy.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Chapter Five_**

I did wake—against my will—and the first thing I saw was a scrap of paper someone was holding as they sat next to my bed. I realized it was my note to Holmes. I made a pathetic attempt to reach for it, trying to speak, but it came out a moan instead.

"Woah, woah, now none of that,"

The gentle voice was familiar, but until Holmes had gently pressed me back onto the bed I hardly dared hope this was real.

"Holmes?" I whispered in surprise.

It was hard to believe I was actually seeing him again. I was alive, but how?

"Easy, dear fellow. You are in no danger," Holmes replied, perching on the end of the bed while allowing me to grip his hand tightly.

It spoke something of my condition that he would let me hold his hand. The man I knew to be logical and emotionless would not be comfortable with such a thing; but, when I was at my worst, he didn't seem to care. Whether he was trying to comfort me or comfort himself, I could not be entirely certain.

I stared at him, taking in his ragged features. He looked pale and strained, and his eyes were bloodshot. One was encircled by a dark bruise and I reached up to feel the skin, my healing instincts acting of their own accord.

"Yes, I must thank you for this pleasant souvenir, since one usually greets their rescuer with a fist, after all," he said, his gray eyes twinkling with merriment. And perhaps a bit misty? Or was I imagining that?

The remark did serve to cheer me up a little though. "I did that?" I asked.

"You seemed most intent on escaping us. Neither me or Lestrade could figure out how you had managed with how sick and injured you were."

I realized Lestrade had been the one to catch me and try to comfort me. It had not been one of my captors at all.

"I wanted to die," I admitted, a tad ruefully.

Holmes' brow creased, and he seemed to pale. "You nearly did," he rasped.

If it hadn't been Holmes' speaking, I might've sworn there were barely concealed tears in that voice.

"What of the case?" I asked.

"It's over," Holmes answered.

And that was the only answer I was to ever get from him. I would press him for details many a time, but never would he tell me the unfinished story. It was a secret he intended to take to the grave.

"Very well then, what of Sarah, Nathan, and Jeremy?" I asked.

He would not be able to refuse me an answer about them.

"They have been released, and my brother is currently finding them work with one of the members of Parliament. They said they helped you the best we could. I was convinced when Sarah started to cry when she overheard you might not live through the night."

I frowned. "They are alright, though?"

"Perfectly fine. The rest of the staff who wasn't involved is freed as well. Reuben and a few others have been detained, but most of the blame is to lay with their employer."

I still couldn't get him to tell me anything more than he already had, so I gave up.

"In any case, when will I be out of here?" I asked.

I had deduced I was in a hospital a while ago, and I didn't like it. I preferred to recuperate in my own room.

"As soon as the doctors allow it, and no sooner," Holmes insisted.

I gave him a pleading look, but he ignored it.

"Holmes, I want to be home. I'll rest better in my own bed," I insisted.

"I won't rest well until I know you'll be okay," he replied softly.

My tone changed from irritation to sympathy. I was unused to the emotional displays, but I was familiar with fear. I had felt it a dozen or so times when he had been in my place and I was the one waiting by his bed, praying each breath would not be his last.

"Alright, Holmes, I'll wait. And if you like, I can sleep in the sitting room so I'm nearby," I said.

He shook his head. "Certainly not, you are ill. You'll take my bed."

Once his mind was made up, it would be the work of a madman to try to persuade him to do otherwise. It was a fool's errand, and I knew better than to waste my time with it. He was still gripping my hand and I felt my eyelids growing heavy, but I didn't want to sleep just yet.

"Sorry about the punch, old fellow," I said, warm affection in my voice.

He took a breath, signaling he was about to give a rather lengthy speech, and I found myself eager to hear it.

"First and foremost, I am sorry. I am sorry it took so long to find you. Sorry to have even involved you in the first place. However, that does not mean that you are not very valued to me—both as a companion and a student to the logic I work with. You are no idiot, and anyone who says otherwise can deal with me." I saw his eyes sparkling dangerously. "You are not allowed to die and leave me with your manuscripts, so just get that notion out of your head. You are required to outlive me and continue to assist me… because I rather like your company, my dear Watson."

I made a face, and shook my head. "Holmes, whatever have you been taking lately? It's certainly not your usual dose of cocaine," I finally said.

He laughed loudly, and I was glad. The speech was the closest he might ever come to admitting he truly cared about me. And it meant the world to me, but I had grown rather attached to his cool manner. It had ceased to bother me so much, and I found his strength was just what I needed. Something firmly rooted that I could rely on. I would take him as he was—logical and calculating—and he would accept my romanticism and compassion.

He might not ever know just why we bonded so well, but I suppose the mystery of our friendship was part of the reason he kept it. In which case I hope he never figured it out.


End file.
